


One man tents aren't meant for sharing

by kissmelikeapirate



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Camping, F/M, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-03-01
Packaged: 2018-09-27 19:03:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10040330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissmelikeapirate/pseuds/kissmelikeapirate
Summary: One man tents aren't meant for sharing. Neither are sleeping bags. Too bad they don't have any choice...





	

Killian Jones' rather bony elbow dug into Emma’s back. Wincing, she scowled then retaliated by shoving her icy cold right foot backwards until it was wedged between his bare legs, causing him to mutter profanities under his breath. 

Today was such a fucking mess. She was cold, tired and mentally drained from an afternoon of drudging through the forest with…  _ him _ .

"Swan..." he groaned, the low timbre of his voice cutting right through her body making her gut clench.

"Keep your arms to yourself, buddy," she snapped, her frown growing deeper.

"Gladly," he quipped, flopping dramatically onto his stomach. The extra-large sleeping bag that housed the pair lurched in his direction, spinning her onto her back and somehow wedging her arm beneath him.

"Urgh!" she cried, tugging herself free, thanking God and all the stars that the man was at least wearing an undershirt.

He turned his head. Though it was late, it was summer and the night sky still provided enough illumination to see his expression: a smug grin combined with raised eyebrows.

Mills, Inc. sure had a funny idea of what constituted team bonding. Pairing up their employees and dropping them off in woods with a map and a compass in some bizarre survivor-type situation had been the CEO’s idea. As hair brained an idea as it was, it may have been passably acceptable - she wasn’t some city girl afraid of the outdoors - if she hadn’t been lumbered with the most irritating member of the PR department: the one who had taken it upon himself to make her life difficult since he had arrived in the country six months ago in an exchange with the London office. The one who tormented her with his sexy eyes and innuendo- laden banter. And the one who had fallen in a goddamn river not two hours earlier - losing his backpack (and sleeping bag) and drenching him thoroughly. You couldn’t make this shit up.

Killian Jones, for all his faults,  _ was  _ a hell of a handsome man and this was especially apparent when up close and personal with him and sharing a space designed for one. Even though the urge to slap him was strong right now, she couldn’t deny that pull of attraction that had haunted her since their first meeting. It was an attraction that she had briefly considered could be something more… Well, until his personality had overruled  _ that  _ thought. For every ounce of smartness, wit and intelligence he exuded, he seemed to possess an equal amount of irritating smugness and a general propensity to always have to take her down a peg or two in their every interaction. For this reason, she had spent their time trudging through the forest concentrating on ignoring him and only talking when necessary.

Until he’d climbed on that damned mossy log and fell into the deepest part of the river that cut the forest in two.

She huffed softly and folded her arms across her body. Silence fell between the pair; only the soft chirping of crickets mingled with their paired breathing. At least he wasn't trying to make conversation, she thought miserably. She wasn’t in the mood to listen to his annoyingly perfect accent or hear more of the ways this was her fault:-

( _ “If only you had listened to me and took the lower trail!” he’d whined, water dripping puddles from his hair. _

_ “Seriously? I didn’t climb on the damn log -  _ I  _ used my common sense and saw that would only end in disaster!” _ )

Half a day’s trek from anywhere and with no phone coverage (yay for the wilderness) they’d had no choice but to make camp, Emma rustling together a campfire as he had stripped down to his underthings (and thank GOD  _ they _ were dry) before the pair had worked in silence to put up the tent that they would now have to share.

“Swan…”

“What?” she’d huffed while pressing a metal peg into the earth with the toe of her boot.

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” She tilted her head over her shoulder to see him staring at her over the top of the tent. 

“Yes…” he replied, twisting up his face. “I was an ass falling in the water like that and if it hadn’t been for you and that branch you threw in… well. So, sorry for screwing this up.”

She laughed lightly as a shiver ran through her. His eyes were damn blue in the fading forest light. She’d wanted to think he was being sincere but she was so used to Jones’ flowery words and silvery tongue (that’s why he works in marketing, she’d mused more than once) that it was impossible to take him seriously.

Clucker her tongue she replied, “Well, I do work security so I should be able to at least keep you safe, Jones.” 

“Aye, I guess so,” he nodded.

She’d busied herself making the fire safe for the night as he’d rolled out their only remaining sleeping bag. The one that they’d now have to share (she wasn’t such a jerk that’d she’d make the guy freeze laying out overnight - it may be July but it was Maine. Well, at least she didn’t want his blood on her hands. Or the paperwork to deal with). While she worked, Killian had constructed a makeshift laundry line and hung his sodden clothes next to the fire. Out the corner of her eye she’d grudgingly let herself admire his body- black underwear and a white undershirt were by far the least she had ever seen him wear - and sighed a little. She imagined he’d feel good wrapped around her. He had nice arms. And a solid looking chest. Urgh, it had been so long since she’d gotten this (physically) close to a guy. Voluntarily that is. 

So here they found themselves, just enough room to squish into the sleeping bag the walls of the tent looming above them and the forest sounds their only companions. He was warm beside her, heat radiating from his skin and sapping away some of the chill she’d felt when she’d climbed inside. She’d tried to sleep but even though the hike had tired her, it was a futile task. She was hyper aware of his presence next to her and to top it off he was damn fidgety -  his breathing a little uneven and his legs restless. 

Finally, she snapped.

“What is it Jones?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re thinking something. I can practically feel the cogs turning in that pretty head of yours.”

“You think I’m pretty?”

She gave him a deathly glare.

“Sorry,” he said again, with a trite little smile. Then he paused, before adding quietly, “I tend to act like an ass when I’m nervous.”

Emma’s brow puckered in confusion. “You’re  _ nervous _ ? What, worried the forest trolls are gonna come murder us in our sleep?”

He fidgeted a little more, his legs jostling against hers, the little hairs on them rubbing against her bare calves and feeling much more pleasant than she’d ever like to admit.

“You make me nervous,” he mumbled. He turned until he was facing the peak of the tent. She waited for him to add the punchline to whatever joke he was trying to tell. He didn’t. Instead he swallowed hard a few times, his lashes flickering against his cheeks.

“Is this a joke. Jones, I-”

She stopped when she felt the fingers of his hand brush against her own.

“No joke, love.”  After a pause, he continued, “I fell in that bloody river because I was trying to impress you and not look like an idiot. Clearly that failed.”

Emma felt her pulse throb in her gut.  _ He wasn’t joking?  _ He didn’t sound like he was joking-

“But- but you… you love to torment me. All that innuendo? Don’t think I haven’t noticed. And I mean, how much security advice does the marketing department need? All those emails? And at stupid-o’clock in the morning? God, you’ve almost doubled my workload- I don’t understand...”

His hand tentatively slipped to cover hers. Her heart began to beat heavily in her chest. His hand was warm and surprisingly soft.

“It may surprise you to learn that for such a handsome fellow I’m a bit of a coward.”

She turned her head on the foam pillow on which it lay. He was looking at her again. The veiled twilight playing with his mussed up hair. Fuck he  _ was  _ handsome. She didn’t often let herself admit that. ( _ And an ass and arrogant and a fool and, and- _ )

“Now that is a lie, Jones. You are full of yourself.”

His hand on hers softened a little, his fingers curling up towards her palm.

“I can see why you’d think that. I haven’t done much to dispel that impression, have I?”

“Jones-”

“No, let me finish before the coward returns.” He pressed his fingers around her hand. “I’ve behaved like an ass because I was in denial about my feelings.” The sleeping bag rustled as he turned on his side to face her. “I like you Emma. A lot. And I know you don’t feel the same but pretending  _ I _ don’t feel this way is eating me up inside and making me behave like an utter ass.”

The words washed over her. She had not been expecting this. Not at all. Yes, she was attracted to him- she wasn’t blind. But he’d always seemed so arrogant. She couldn’t think straight. Not with his leg brushing against hers and his fingers dancing over her palm. Not with his face so close and the scent of the campfire mingling with pine needles-

“Oh hell I’ve made things awkward. Maybe I should-”

He made to unzip the sleeping bag and she quickly grasped his wrist. “Where will you go in the middle of the night with no dry clothes?” 

“This was a mistake- I’d just hoped that maybe…” he sighed deeply. He recoiled his hand from her touch. “Nevermind. I’m just, tired…” 

She could tell he was lying. She’d always been good at that.

Slowly, she pulled up her knees between them, hugging her arms around herself. “It’s fine, really. Just let’s try and sleep, okay? Then we can, well-”

She shrugged, not knowing how to end that sentence. Thankfully he replied with a soft, “Aye, Swan.”

///

Later turned out to be sometime after the crickets had quieted down and the very last glow of the fire’s embers had faded. Emma hadn’t slept a wink. She’d tried to convince herself that the whole exchange was some kind of dream - or an elaborate joke. But the more she thought and mulled things over - the more she worried her teeth against her bottom lip and clenched her fists - the more she knew what she had to do.

“Killian?” she whispered, not knowing if he was awake. His breathing was steady, but maybe he was pretending to be asleep like she was.

“Yes?”

“What you said earlier… I really make you nervous?”

“Yep,” he whispered, “Like a bloody school boy round his first crush.”

She processed his admission, running her hands over her arms. “Why?”

“Why? I guess it’s because you intimidate me.”

“ _ I _ intimidate  _ you _ ?”

He chuckled unexpectedly. “Yes. You have to know you’re gorgeous, Swan ( _ at that, her cheeks flared ho _ t) and intelligent and so… together. I remember the first time I met you for my security briefing: you with your hair in that damned ponytail and those tall boots of yours, eyes blazing at this idiot from the London office. You made quite the impression.”

Emma did remember that meeting, however what she remembered was his indecently unbuttoned shirt and the way his dark hair had flopped over his eyes and how he’d batted back every piece of information with a flirtatious look or loaded reply. “You were difficult that day.”

“Nervous, love. I told you, I act like a fool when intimidated.” She saw him smile. “But I worked out pretty quickly that you were far from interested in anything I had to offer.”

Without missing a beat she replied, “Who said that?”

Flustered, he ran a hand through his hair. “Body language, love. I can tell when a woman is averse to my attentions.”

And then it clicked - just how at cross purposes the pair had been-

“I act standoffish when I’m scared,” she admitted.

“Scared?”

“ _ Nervous _ …” she clarified. 

“And you were nervous because-”

“Maybe I did see something I liked in you.”

“Did… past tense?”

His hand found her chin and tilted it up. Both their heads rested on the thin camping pillow Emma had packed and now they were eye to eye.

“I didn’t want to be paired up with you, Killian.”

“You didn’t?”

She shook her head.

“Why?”

“Because-” she took a deep breath, “Because I was scared this might happen.”

With that, she arched back her neck, letting their lips press against each other; the dark blanket of night allowing her let go of her fears as she pressed her palms against his chest. She’d thought of this exact moment dozens of times, but never actually expected it to happen. 

It took a second’s delay, but then he was kissing her back, a hand cupping her chin as the one closest to the ground slipped to her waist, finding the bare skin where her sweater had rode up from her leggings. She nudged her leg between his, enjoying the weight of his body against her. He tasted like the tea they had drank earlier from the flask in her backpack. His short beard was softer than she imagined and tickled her skin as his lips moved to pepper kisses down her neck. 

“Swan…” he sighed, his lips pausing back at her jaw as warm jolts of electricity licked at her skin. “I fear we have both been rather mistaken about the other’s feelings.”

“Trust you to be so eloquent,” she panted, balling her fists in his thin t-shirt and wondering how the hell things had turned out this way. Then she pulled him closer for another kiss, rolling him so his body was pressing hers into the ground, her hands wrapping around his back and under the shirt, sliding over the muscles there as his hand dipped beneath the waistband of her leggings and teased the elastic of her underwear.

It felt so  _ right _ . Kissing him came naturally, it seemed. It was sure easier than talking to him, though she knew that would have to happen at some point and figure out what the hell this was. But now -  _ now  _ was not the time _.  _ Instead of thinking, she tugged his shirt up and over his head, raking her hands over his chest and rueing the circumstances that had stopped them from doing this much, much sooner.

“I guess nerves are gone now,” she said, despite the fact that her own heart was seriously trying to escape her chest.

“Hardly, Swan,” he whispered, rolling his hips into hers, the cotton between them doing nothing to hide either of their eagerness to take this to the next level.

The sleeping bag, however, was less cooperative.

A few more minutes of kissing had them impossibly tangled, her arm wedged almost behind her back as one of his hands tugged down her leggings and the other slid beneath her sweater to cup her breasts. Their legs wrestling against the down filled wrapper, little huffs of frustration falling from her lips.

“Fuck,” she sighed, “Killian-”

“Oh, I like you you say my name, love.”

She pulled back, looking him in the eye, “Not your love.”

“ _ Yet _ ,” he added, squeezing her breast through her bra until she opened her eyes and saw the way he was grinning at her with a little hint of sincerity in his eyes that made his statement so much more intriguing.

Filing away that thought, she slipped her arm between them, finding his erection heavy against her stomach, wrapping her fingers around him and pressing each digit until he cursed again.

“You play dirty,” he hissed.

“Don’t you?”

With another grin, he rolled the pair onto their sides, leaning in for a toe curling kiss  as his hand crept into her panties and slid between her folds. She took in a sharp breath when his fingers slid inside her, his thumb rocking against her clit, her legs feeling weightless as they slid apart to accommodate him. After a second to adjust, she tightened her grip -  _ not _ imagining how his length might feel inside her - rocking her hand, swirling her own thumb over his tip, listening to the sounds he was making that were amplified in the tiny space (turns out that accent was even more of a turn on in situations such as this-).

His fingers reached deeper, her wetness coating the tops of her thighs now, her hips rocking towards his, just has he was pivoting into her hand. So much repressed wanting bursting forth was something to behold. Every part of her was tingling. She wanted to come. _ She wanted him to come.  _ But she wanted this to last forever because after there would be words and thinking and right now all she wanted was not to consider the consequences of what the hell was going on--- Which was too bad, because mere moments later her body was folding in upon itself followed by the telltale grunts of Killian reaching completion (turns out he even looked hot when doing that - no scrunched up orgasm face for this guy.)

When the sensations subsided she was left flushed and goddamn glowing. It had been a long while since she had came like that.

There was then a semi-awkward silence. He went about cleaning himself up with his t-shirt as she tactfully waited until he balled up the shirt and tossed it to the bottom of the tent.

“Well,” she hummed, “That was unexpected.”

“Do you regret it…”

Her hand moved to brush against his face. “Do I look like I regret it?”

And  _ damn, _ it  _ looked like he _ was blushing, his cheeks reddened even in the dark. His hand covered hers, bringing it to rest between them. “Thank God,” he whispered.

She smiled, interlinking their fingers, deciding now is not the time to overthink this. 

“It’s warm in here,” she panted, pushing the sleeping bag down to her waist.

“Don’t you know, one man tents aren’t meant for sharing?”

She shook her head. “Asshole.”

Then she kissed him again. 

* * *

Only three hours late the next day, they made it to the finish line.

If there were a few leaves in her hair and a suspicious bruise or two on his neck, no one commented. Turns out that even if one man tents aren’t made for sharing, the woods have plenty of other spaces that have more than enough room for two.

  
  



End file.
